


John 15:13

by fannishliss



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Afterlife, Dream Logic, Message from beyond, Multi, Post series finale, but something, not really a fix it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:47:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22054285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannishliss/pseuds/fannishliss
Summary: Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.
Relationships: Harold Finch/Grace Hendricks, Harold Finch/John Reese
Comments: 8
Kudos: 11





	John 15:13

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted happiness for John Reese, so this is a way for me to give him peace--- and a gift to POI fandom, I hope you all like it.

John looks good in the suit, the world’s best wool, smooth and warm, lightweight and breathable. The cotton of his shirt is endlessly fine, whiter than snow. Even the way he leaves his top buttons carelessly undone is perfect. 

John looks easy, well rested, the lines of his face relaxed, his eyes open and bright. His skin is smooth and clear, the light blush that always graces the tops of his cheekbones healthy and invigorated. His hair is a little bit longer than Harold remembers, the white strands raucously standing out, refusing to be tamed. 

John’s feet are bare. 

Harold’s breath catches in his chest. John’s feet are bare, the fine bones of his arches more precious than world class architecture, the toes unbroken (Harold knew everything about John, every sutured wound, every mended fracture). 

“You’ve got the wrong idea,” John says. His lips, so soft, so gentle, curve up at the edges in his tiny, wry smile. 

“What?” Harold asks, helplessly. 

“I’m not still in the army,” John says. “Fighting.” 

“Oh, John,” Harold says, his heart thudding. 

“Look at me,” John commands, holding his arms out slightly to his sides. “Pretty good, huh?” 

John is human beauty personified, restored to perfection: perfectly proportioned, perfectly elegant. Even the broken bridge of his nose is perfect. He is practically glowing. 

No, he is glowing. 

“John, I love you,” Harold says, a precious pain lancing through his core. “I love you, I love you.” 

“Hey,” John says, his eyes full of light, peaceful and happy. “I know. You never denied it.”

“John!” Harold says, reaching out to touch him, yearning, but he isn’t there, he isn’t there with John, they’re not in the same place. 

“Not now, Harold,” John says, and somehow, it’s like a kiss, the softest kiss, the warmest, most tender embrace. “See you later, ok?” 

“John!” 

Harold gasps, and sits up, and his face is wet with tears. 

“Harold, are you all right?” Grace says, illuminated by the faint light of dawn. She hands him a tissue from the nightstand, and he blots away the tears from his eyes. 

“It was John,” Harold says, composing himself after a moment. 

“Oh,” Grace says, exhaling. “What did he say?” 

The image of John, glowing and perfect, doesn’t fade from Harold’s mind, emblazoned like an icon. 

“I don’t…” Harold’s brain is well trained at retrieving long strings of information in precise detail. Grace waits while he sorts the dream through. 

“He said he’s not still fighting. He said he’d see me later.” Harold meets Grace’s eyes. “I told him I loved him, and he said I’d never denied it.” 

Grace looks at him with so much understanding. “Did you think you denied it?” 

“I did, didn’t I? Denied it, used him as a weapon, never let him close…” 

Harold aches, the regrets of everything that never was welling up inside him. 

“Shh,” Grace says. “You know, there’s a theory that every character in a dream is an aspect of yourself, bringing you a message from your subconscious. What do you think John was trying to tell you?” 

“He said I never denied him,” Harold says. “But…. “ 

Grace waits him out. 

“Honestly? My subconscious, much less my conscious mind, has never forgiven me, and may well never.”

“John would have wanted you to be happy,” Grace says. “From everything you’ve told me, he was very generous, very forgiving.” 

“He was,” Harold says. “I wish, how I wish you could have known him.” 

They remember the exchange, Detective Riley, his gentle hands and his constant overwhelming sorrow. Harold thinks about telling John that Grace was everything. How could he, how dare he, say such a thing to John. 

“I would have loved him, as much as you do,” Grace says. 

“I seem to have a history of treating the ones I love very badly,” Harold says, sniffling a little. 

“He never held it against you?” Grace wonders, gently. 

“I don’t know," Harold says with a sigh. "He thanked me, for giving him a purpose, but it was so little to give such a man. I wanted to give him everything, but in the end, he gave up his life for our mission.” 

Grace simply listens while Harold works it out. 

“He said I had the wrong idea, that he was still fighting. He looked good. He looked, frankly, better than he ever really looked. He was happy, at peace.” 

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Grace asks. 

“I suppose so,” Harold says. 

There’s still a pain inside him, but the image of John, so radiant, healthy and happy, soothes the ache. 

Harold isn’t one for metaphysics. But something about the dream rings true, resonates deeper, than merely Harold’s subconscious or what he had for dinner. 

John’s life was cut short too soon, but he doesn’t have to be a soldier anymore. He knows Harold loves him, and he’ll see him later. 

It’s not a perfect happily ever after, but maybe, just maybe, it’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on an actual dream message from someone who died. I think it's possible that we do sometimes get messages from the other side, and we see the person who is gone, happy, healthy and made whole. I wanted that for John Reese, so I gave him that in this story.


End file.
